Glass Half Empty
by nerdplease
Summary: Some people are optimists. Some People are not. A one shot, that comes purely out of my imagination. Post-COE, Pre-Miracle Day. R/R appreciated.


**_I found this on my Computer whilst freeing up some space and I eventually got round to putting it on here. Please read and review, your comments mean a lot and I love me some Constructive Criticism. Gee_ _**

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><p>The lone man leans, broken, against the bar. His once proud coat now hangs in tatters, decorated with sticky substances spilt on him by strangers. A gun lies safely tucked in its holster in case it is needed. But it has not been needed. Not in a long time. His face is expressionless, the soulful blue eyes burrowing into the counter below him. Vestiges of his handsome good-looks still remain but he seems… hollow. Empty inside. He is haunted, lost in his own thoughts, of times long ago. Of events he cannot change, not matter how hard he tries. Of people he's loved and people he's lost.<p>

Their faces flash through his memory, reflected in his eyes. He's stood at so many graves, watching the generations pass by. He stands there, watching as the name on each gravestone changes, the dates getting later. And every time he looks exactly the same. The curse of Immortality.

If you could call it Immortality, he thought to himself with a dry chuckle. What is the correct term for a man who can die but always comes back to life? He should really Google it.

He reached his hand out, a shot glass held firmly in its grasp. He waved it in the direction of the barman before letting his arm drop heavily to the counter. He stared into the remains, watching his own distorted reflection blink back at him. His face was warped by the glass, twisted into someone he didn't know. He saw it every time he looked the mirror, this stranger reflected back at him, exact in every detail yet so different. He hadn't been himself in a long time.

He'd forgotten what it was like to be normal. Well, as normal as a 51st Century Time Agent can be. He'd forgotten what it felt like to be strong. And most of all, he'd forgotten what it felt like to be loved. His heart was shattered into a thousand tiny fragments, drifting through his body waiting to be stitched back together. An empty hollow feeling was left, a constant ache that gnawed at his inner being every single moment of his torturous existence. And each tiny piece of his heart that longed to be reunited with the rest turned back on him, the sharp little fragments slicing through his soul for his arrogance, his stupidity, and his mistakes.

His Immortality as he called it had led him astray from his once strong beliefs. The knowledge that he was invincible, and that shield covered everything around him was destroyed. Everything that he held close to him, the most precious thing he could call his own had been snatched away, right at the very end. He had lost the one man who over the many years he had been alive had been the only person who had made him feel completely whole.

That little Welshman, all prim and proper with a heart of gold could turn Jack into a simpering mess with one of his innocent puppy looks. And a simpering mess is not something Jack will admit to lightly. Ever since that first moment, during the Cyberwoman epidemic when he really saw the broken man hiding behind the suit, he knew he was going to be with him forever. And foolishly, he let himself be swept along with his emotions, blissfully ignoring the whispers that it would never last. Everything always ends. And deep down, deeper than Jack dared to go, he knew it was true. But still, he clung on to the hope that maybe, maybe this time it would be different.

And for a while, he thought it might be true. Through all the tragic events that surrounded the 21st century Torchwood, his Ianto Jones stood silently by his side. Through the rise of John Hart, through the discovery of his brother Gray, through the deaths of Toshiko and Owen, even through the Daleks. This brave young man had always somehow made it through.

It was now Jack wished that he could turn back time, run back to some of those precious moments he wasted "sleeping" when he could have been with his lover, holding him, telling him how he couldn't be without him. Those stupid mundane moments wasted making coffee or attempting to grow a TARDIS on his desk. When he could have seen his face just one more time.

Now, he would give anything, and he meant anything to see his face one more time. Because every time he tried to think of his face it came back slightly blurred. Each time he lost Ianto a little bit more until slowly he was disappearing from his memory. It had happened with the others, why wouldn't it happen with him? But Jack couldn't let that happen. He would not let him float away until he was just a fuzzy face, blended in with the crowd. He wouldn't let it be so!

He slammed his fists down on the bar, his anger coming out in a deep growl, attracting furtive looks from the creatures standing near him. It was one of the first signs of movement he'd shown in a long time. With a speed so quick you could have blinked and missed it, he pushed himself away from the bar and entered a few digits into the worn leather object on his wrist.

With a flash, Jack Harkness was gone.

He hit the ground with a satisfying thud, keeping his eyes closed as he drank in the smell of the damp earth and the crisp winter air. His eyes opened slowly, revealing large glassy orbs reflecting the thousand of stars above in the night sky. He stood there for a while, hands thrust in his pockets, coat trailing behind him in his signature pose. He looked out from the hill over the vast expanse of city. The concrete jungle sprawled for Miles, the dim orange lights glowing weakly against the inky sky. He wondered if she was out there, nestled in amongst the cosy buildings with her husband and her baby. How old would the baby be now? How long had he been away, he asked himself.

"I knew you'd come back. One day." A quiet voice snuck up behind him.

The familiarity of it hit Jack as if he had been slapped. His body froze yet his mind carried on, processing analysing every aspect, every syllable of the welsh tones.

He turned carefully, his heart begging that what it had heard was true. Every single fibre of his being screamed for it to be him.

There, standing at the bottom of this hill, was his Ianto Jones.

He wore a new suit, with a crisp blue shirt and a deep blue tie. His face was clear of any marks, unblemished, unlike on his death day where he had bore an ugly scar across his cheek. A long golden chain hung round his neck, collecting in his breast pocket where he knew a Stopwatch was contained.

Jack urged himself not to blink, for in one second this could all vanish. With one tiny gesture everything could slip away again. But his eyes began to water, half from trying to defy his body's natural instincts and half because he knew this is where it would all end. This would be the last time he would see his over again. A lone tear slipped down his cheek as he lowered his eyelids.

When he raised them his vision was blurred from the tears that swam in front of his eyes. But as they cleared and everything came back into focus, his broken heart leapt to his mouth.

Ianto Jones was still standing at the bottom of the hill.

The tears fell freely now, as Jack began to stride down the hill towards him. He was walking to meet him, running down the hill as fast as his legs would carry him. With one movement he swept his lover into his arms, feeling every inch of him possible.

Jack buried his face in Ianto's neck, inhaling the smell of rich coffee that masked the strong smell of Eau De Cologne. He cried unashamedly now, his entire soul was pouring out of him. Within him, he felt his heart slowly mending, each tiny fragment flying to his chest where they began to stitch back together. His tears dampened the collar of Ianto's suit and Jack half-laughed, half-sobbed as he stared into Ianto's face.

"I love you" Jack told him, holding Ianto's face in his hands, soaking up every detail of his face as he could.

"So would you say we're a couple now?" Ianto replied, not looking directly at him, more over Jack's shoulder. But Jack was so overcome with emotion he didn't register the odd movement.

"Yeah" Jack said, wiping his tears on the sleeve of his coat. He hiccoughed slightly as he tried to regain the composure he had so suddenly lost.

A small ticking noise sounded from Ianto's pocket, and the young man reached in and pulled his Stopwatch out by the fine thread.

"Time's up Jack" he replied, taking it from round his neck. The man raised it to his lips and tenderly placed a kiss upon it before placing it in the deep pocket of Jack's coat. Jack felt the heavy object resting

"What do you mean, Time's up?" Jack asked, his fears flooding back to him. His heart began to beat wildly and his blood was thundering round his body so fast he couldn't hear himself think.

As he watched the young man for a reply, dread began to flood through his veins, mixing with the fear to heighten his emotions to an entirely new level.

Ianto's face seemed to be glowing, and it was slowly spreading down until it encompassed his whole body. The air around him seemed to Morph, twisting strangely around him as if he was somehow not a whole being. Then the glowing began to flicker and fade, but he continued to fade until his outline was no longer distinguishable against the backdrop.

"No… Ianto… NO…" he cried, pleading, begging with him. He reached a hand out desperately trying to grasp him, but all he felt was cold air between his fingers.

"No… IANTO!" He screamed, falling to his knees as he stared at the spot where his one love had once again faded in front of him. He remained on his knees for some time, screaming his heart out as if it might choke him, beating at the goddamned earth with his fists until some of his pent up anger had been released. Eventually he dragged himself up from the floor to stare at the once-magnificent city.

But the city did not lie in front of him.

His face was reflected in the glass he held smashed in his fist, the shards of glass penetrating his skin and causing scarlet drops of blood to trickle down his hand. The roar of noise from the ar slowly reached a crescendo in his ears as he reached into his pocket, feeling for the cool touch of metal.

His pocket was empty.

And, once again in this miserable Immortality, Captain Jack Harkness was alone.


End file.
